The Prince
by Reading Redhead
Summary: CHAPTER 4 UP! A set of stories about the haughty hottie, our favorite Prince Not-So-Charming, Roshaun. Some one-sided RoshaunDairine. Based around "The Prince" by Machiavelli. Better explanation in story.
1. Introduction

Disclaimer: I don't own any part of the Young Wizards universe; all the characters (and most of the settings and a lot of other stuff as well) belong to Diane Duane. Neither do I own _The Prince_; I have no idea who has rights to it now, but it was originally written by Niccolo Machiavelli (and I am only including this in the disclaimer so as to be spared the ordeal of being accosted by the ghost of an Italian politician over literary rights).

An Explanation on the Behalf of the Author (also known as an author's note): The following story will be a set of small tales involving everyone's favorite Prince Not-So-Charming, Roshaun of the many names. Each chapter will be a small story within itself, based upon each of the chapters in Machiavelli's work of the same title, and there will not be any real connecting plotline, other than the continued references to _The Prince_ by Machiavelli. I am being forced to read _The Prince_ against my will, but so many parts of it make me think of Roshaun that the idea for this story came to mind. This is my way of making Machiavelli fun. That said, it will be updated sporadically at best, and probably not done until well into the school year (seeing as _The Prince_ has twenty-six chapters, plus the introduction and dedication, and I will be writing about them all). And I think that's it. On to the story!

The Prince

**Introduction**

Roshaun was bored. This by itself was not at all extraordinary. What _was_ extraordinary was that there were no frightened palace staff trying desperately to alleviate the boredom of their esteemed prince.

_King now, I suppose,_ Roshaun mused. He had received word—had it been only days ago?—that his father, who had been the Sun Lord of Wellakh for so long, was rescinding his claim to the throne. When the time came for him to leave Earth, Roshaun would be welcomed back with all of the pomp and pageantry befitting one of his exalted status as ruler of an entire planet. Somehow, oddly, he did not find himself looking forward to this event in the way he might have, earlier. His mother had been right about one thing when she'd insisted he take place in this wizardly exchange program: it had been a worthwhile experience.

_In more ways than I think even she could have imagined,_ Roshaun thought as he looked around the Callahan living room. Before the events that had occurred here on Earth, Roshaun would have never even considered admitting his mother had been right about anything—even if she had been. But now, he saw that this visit had done him a great deal of good. And it wasn't even over yet.

Still, none of this did anything about his current less-than-entertained state. _And if I want something done about it,_ Roshaun thought, _I'll have to do it myself._ It was an odd notion, but one he thought he could manage. His old self would have laughed at it. Now, he knew better than to suppose that Dairine or her father would cater to his every need in the way he had been accustomed to back home. So it was up to him to amuse himself.

He got up from the easy chair he'd been lounging in and looked at the bookshelves that lined one wall. Perhaps there would be something interesting for him to read, and he could pass the time until the rest of the house was awake in that manner. Dairine had not come down from her bedroom since the night before, and Filif and Sker'ret had not, to Roshaun's knowledge, left their pup tents. They were all undoubtedly worn out from the effort they had so recently made to save Earth's star, Sol, from destabilizing and possibly frying the planet, if not worse. Oddly, Roshaun did not feel the same weariness that they did; a normal night's sleep had been enough for him. He thought it might have had something to do with the energy he'd encountered within Sol, when he'd had to enter the tachocline to correctly position the worldgate. Whatever the reason, he felt vigorously awake.

But he knew that the others would not be functioning as well for at least a little while, so he looked at the titles on the spines of the books, using his wizardly abilities to read the language that he would not have otherwise understood. They varied greatly. There was one book that, from its title, might have been about balancing the affairs of some militant kingdom. Though vaguely interesting, the mere size was enough to dissuade Roshaun; the book could have doubled as a doorstop. There was also a collection of theatrical works by someone called Shakespeare, and a book about handling large fire-breathing lizards (or fiercely vigilant and intractable people; Roshaun wasn't quite sure which meaning of "dragon" the author intended). Then he saw another volume, smaller than the rest by far, and with a title he couldn't possibly misconstrue: _The Prince_, by someone called Niccolo Machiavelli.

_This could be interesting,_ he thought, removing the book from the shelf and returning to his favored chair. _Though I am no longer a prince, it should be informative to see what this prince of Machiavelli's is like._ And so he leaned back in the chair and, with his wizardry abilities making the words on the page intelligible, began to read.


	2. Dedication

**Dedication**

_"…in order thoroughly to understand the nature of the populace one must be a prince, and in order thoroughly to understand the nature of a prince, one must be of the people."_

Earth's moon, Roshaun had to admit, was a wonderful sight. He was almost glad that he had allowed Dairine to take him there—almost. She was obviously stressed about this wizardry they were working, and about the sudden absence of the higher-ups in Earth's wizardly hierarchy. He thought that she probably needed the restorative sight more than he did. After all, the spell they would be enacting later on was simple stellar manipulation.

"It's not _that_ simple," Dairine said, standing next to him and looking down at Earth.

_Was I thinking that loudly?_ Roshaun thought, surprised. He was always so good at controlling things like that. What was different? He concluded that it must be the view. From this distance, Earth looked almost…beautiful. It was an odd thought.

"I've drawn up harder spells," he replied offhandedly to Dairine.

She merely snorted in derision, as if to say, _Yeah right!_

"It's true!" Roshaun protested, wondering why he felt the need to justify himself in front of Dairine. Technically, it _was_ true: he had practiced diagramming interventions much more complex than this. But those had been just for practice, and he had never implemented any of them. He had never had the need to.

Dairine decided not to reply to this last comment, preferring silence, Roshaun supposed, to an argument. In fact, she stayed so silent that he almost forgot she was there, until a while later when she spoke.

"You're afraid."

This simple accusation startled him. He had not been prepared for such, and the best he could reply with was, "So are you."

"Yes, I'm afraid," she said steadily. "But not so much for me. This is my sun we're talking about. If something goes wrong…" She didn't need to finish.

Roshaun felt unsettled by this uncharacteristic declaration. Dairine did not seem like the sort of being to admit such a thing, especially around a being she respected as much as Roshaun, which was not at all. "You need to do it, though," he said tentatively, trying to sound comforting. "You've had experience with stellar dynamics before. And like you said, it's your sun we're talking about. That could make a difference." He left unsaid that he had had far more experience than her with spells of this type, and that if her being from the Solar system made a difference at all, it wouldn't be a large one. Dairine knew that anyway; it wouldn't do her any good to hear it again.

A pause. "So you _do_ know how to be tactful," Dairine said sarcastically.

Regaining his composure, Roshaun said, "Yes, I do believe the palace tutor tried to teach me something about it. He had a terribly monotone voice, though, and did not appreciate me informing him of it."

She looked at him, one eyebrow raised. "Did I just see you try to be funny?"

"A prince does not _try_," he replied. "A prince _does_."

"Someone's been getting instruction from Yoda," Dairine commented, quite incomprehensibly. "Now if only he could teach you humility." She lapsed again into thought.

They stood there for a while, both looking down at Earth. Roshaun wondered idly what his subjects would have thought had they seen him standing here with this…with Dairine. He even would have been interested by his parents' thoughts.

Finally, Dairine looked down at her wristwatch and said, "We'd better get going."

Roshaun nodded, pulling from a pocket of his robes the tangle of brightness Dairine called his manual but was referred to on his world as simply "the Light." He quickly reconstructed the spell that would take them back to the Callahan backyard, still thinking. Dairine had not pressed him to admit his fear. He was glad; it would have been difficult for him to do so, even though as a wizard he could not lie and could only dance around a subject for so long. Eventually, he would have had to admit his fear, something he didn't want to do in front of _her_. Not just because she was right, but because he, too, was not afraid as much for himself as he was for others. A certain other, in particular.

He pushed those thoughts aside, certainly not wanting them to be overheard, and glanced back down at Earth. Then he looked to Dairine and, against all odds, smiled. "Let's go save the world."


	3. Chapter I: The Kinds of Principalities a...

A/N: To any who were waiting for this next installment, sorry for the long time between updates! School has just been hectic. Hopefully, I will have time to write more on this during break. Anyway, hope you like this one, and please review if you read. I'm looking for any constructive criticism!

**Chapter I: The Kinds of Principalities and the Means by Which They Are Acquired**

_"Principalities are…hereditary, in which the family has been long established…"_

The story of Roshaun's ancestors was an old one, told in all the Wellakh history books and known by nearly all the planet, whether they liked it or not. As a young boy, Roshaun had always taken his royal wizardly heritage for granted. It was just what his family did, what they had been established to do. It was their duty to protect the people from what the people couldn't deal with on their own.

It wasn't until later that Roshaun had begun to feel the burden of his position. He still vividly remembered that first history lecture where his personal tutor had told him the story of his world's hardships. He had still been a young boy at the time, not yet a wizard, preparing for his role as future king of the entire planet. Somehow, then, it had not been a daunting concept.

But all that had changed, with one simple lesson.

————————————————————————

Roshaun tapped his foot impatiently, annoyingly weighed down by all of his courtly clothing. He wished sometimes that he could be like the other boys he saw running through the palace sometimes, children of servants or maids, but he knew that he was the son of the king, and had to behave as such. It was one of the first lessons he had been taught.

Now he was sitting in the reading room in the east wing of the palace library, waiting for his tutor to show up for the scheduled lesson. Today was supposed to be history, which he didn't really find too interesting, and he just wanted it to be over with.

He waited a few more minutes before realizing how very bad he was at waiting for anything. _What is taking that man so long?_ he thought. _It's not like he has anywhere else to be._ Partially out of curiosity and partially out of boredom, Roshaun got up from the table he'd been sitting at and crossed to the other side, where a stack of books had been assembled, undoubtedly to aid in his lesson. He looked at the book at the top of the stack and, having nothing better to do, dragged it off the stack and set it down on the table. He lifted the large cover and opened the book to a page in the middle and began to read.

_From the childhood journal of the first Sun Lord:_

_ I am scared. Mother and father and the rest of the family have gathered in haste. They have sent the children to stay with friends on the other side of the world. I do not know why. I heard them talking before I was sent away with the others. They say there is something wrong with the sun, and that they must fix it. I do not understand, but still I am afraid._

Roshaun was beginning to find interest in the reading. The history lessons he had had so far had been boring, with no real disasters taking place, but this looked like it was getting good. Roshaun read on to the next entry, dated several hours later.

_ Mother and father and the rest of the family were right. Something has gone wrong with the sun. They have all of the wizards helping them, but they don't think they can fix it. I am more frightened now. Mother came to see me and little Anka, the baby. She was only here for a while. She had to go back and help. Anka was crying when mother said goodbye and I bent to calm her. When I looked up, mother was gone._

Though he wasn't sure why, a growing sense of dread was filling Roshaun. Now he read on in hopes that the boy's situation would improve; though he was not very close to his mother, this boy seemed to be. He had almost forgotten that he was reading a true story of one of his relations. The next entry was from several days later.

_Though it is now over, I still don't understand. Mother and father will not be coming back. They died heroes, I am told, saving the rest of the world from a terrible fate. They are not the only ones: our family has lost many, all of these now labeled "heroes" like mother and father. People who didn't care for our family before are now visiting to pay their respects. They say they want a ruler from our family to become king. All I want is to see my parents again. I wish I had been old enough to die a hero along with them._

When his tutor finally walked in, nearly half an hour late and apologizing, Roshaun was still fixated on the last entry, unable to get the image of the little boy out of his head. In his mind, the boy looked a lot like him.

"So," his tutor said, "I see you've found the journals of your ancestor."

All Roshaun could do was nod.

The tutor smiled a sad smile that Roshaun couldn't quite place. "Would you like to hear the whole story?" the tutor asked.

Gathering himself, Roshaun said, "Yes, thank you," but all through the explanations, the voice of that little boy stayed with him, accompanied by a single thought.

_That could be you next._


	4. Chapter II: Hereditary Principalities

A/N: Yes, I know it's been forever since I updated—I'm sorry! As usual, school has been taking up all of that "free time" I once had. As a bit of a thank you for sticking with me, this chapter is the longest I've written yet. Then again, not by too much…but I didn't want to drag out the vignette. If you read, please review, even if it's just a one-liner. I would especially appreciate any criticism, or things that you would like to see happen in future chapters. Thanks!

**Chapter II: Hereditary Principalities**

_"The hereditary prince has less cause and less need to offend than a new one. Hence it follows that he is more readily loved."_

Roshaun sniggered lightly at reading these words. This Machiavelli had obviously never been a hereditary prince. It was much more difficult than he made it out to be: Roshaun knew from experience.

Sometimes, when he'd been younger, he'd wished for the freedom of being ordinary, but the one lesson he had learned from his father was that he had a job to do and a people to serve, and that giving up the fight before it was over—before it even began, in Roshaun's case—didn't make sense. Then again, that unknowing advice was now hypocritical, seeing as his father had abdicated, leaving the world in the care of a king who was really barely more than a confused teenage boy. He had enough problems of his own, without adding the problems of a world onto them.

Besides, there was no way he could ever get his people to love him. He'd failed at that years ago.

————————————————————————

Roshaun waited silently behind the pillar of creamy marble, waiting for the group of nobles to pass by on the other side. It was his first trip to the other side of Wellakh, the one not burnt to a crisp by the ancient solar flare, but he hadn't seen much of it yet. His father had taken them by transport spell directly into the lavish house of the aristocrat he was forced by necessity to visit. Roshaun had been obligated to "play" with the aristocrat's silly daughter, who was years younger than him and spent the entire time asking him which of her toys he liked best.

But now he had only a few feet between him and freedom. The nobles passed, and Roshaun darted out from behind the pillar, entering the street below.

He had never been out on his own before. The palace was the only thing on the side of the planet he was normally confined to, so there hadn't been any "out" to explore.

It was a new feeling, freedom. The people in the streets might have glanced at him once or twice, but they went right back to their business, not noticing anything out of the ordinary. This lack of notice brought him a sense of pride. He'd "borrowed" the clothes of a servant's child, and bound back his hair in the style of most peasants in order to fit in, and it was working.

For a while Roshaun just wandered, taking in all of the sights. He was surprised by the trees and flowers that seemed to grow wherever earth was left bare. At the palace, such greenery was a luxury to be found only in the Sun Lord's private conservatory, but here commoners stopped and bent down to smell the opening blossoms or rested under the shade of the trees. Roshaun saw a smiling boy stoop down and pluck a flower from its stem, only to turn around and run back down the street to hand it to a woman who was obviously his mother. She smiled and hugged her son, settling the flower behind her ear as the boy smiled back.

The interaction he saw between people was a new thing as well. Back at his home, the courtiers and servants had been wary of showing any emotions. Roshaun's family was even more distant—he rarely saw any of his relatives, and his parents spoke about most of them in warning tones. But here, people laughed and chatted together openly while going about their business, seemingly without a care in the world.

Roshaun slowly moved towards a group of three young boys his age who seemed to be playing some sort of game on the sidewalk. Trusting his disguise to allow him to blend in, he stood a few feet away, pretending to be interested in the items in the shop window while listening to the boys' conversation.

"Did you really see him?" the smallest and youngest-looking asked eagerly of the others.

"I did," the eldest replied, "but I don't see why you're so excited."

"Why shouldn't I be? He's the prince!" the youngest one replied. Roshaun's stomach gave an odd jolt: they were talking about him. He sidled closer, trying not to look obvious.

"And they say he'll be king when his father dies," the middle boy added. "You should at least show a bit more respect, Kel."

"Respect for what?" Kel asked. "Because he was born into the right family? Is that really something to respect? What makes him any different, any better, than you or me?"

"But he's a prince," the youngest boy insisted stubbornly. "He's there to protect us."

"That's what you've always been told," Kel admitted, "but look at reality. What has he—or any of the royal family, for that matter—ever done to help us? They all sit in their palace on the other side of the world, living a life of luxury."

"It's not as easy as you think!" Roshaun said, realizing belatedly that he had drawn the boys' attention. They were now looking straight at him.

"Who are you to know that?" Kel questioned.

Thinking fast, Roshaun replied, "My friend's mother used to work at the palace, as a maid. She saw all sorts of things—assassination attempts, political plots. The entire world expects things of y—of the royal family," Roshaun caught his slip just in time. "Don't you think that that much responsibility would be hard to bear?"

"You don't see them offering to give it up, though, do you?" Kel retorted. "If it's really that hard, why don't they just all quit?"

"Maybe they can't!" Roshaun yelled, angered by this foolish commoner who knew nothing of palace life. "Maybe quitting isn't a choice for them! You said it yourself, they're just people, and yet so much responsibility is heaped on them!"

"Yeah, sure," Kel said skeptically. "I'm thinking that you see things I don't. I wouldn't mind being Sun Lord—I'd actually make things better for us here. The royal family can't do anything for the common people because they don't know what it's like to be a common person. I say that one of us needs to take over and set things right."

The middle boy, who had been listening all this time, spoke up. "That's a great idea, Kel, but there's one small problem—you're not a wizard. What if something happens to our sun again? Fixing it may be the only thing the king's good for. It's not something you'd see me volunteering to do. Let 'em have their royalty—they don't have much else."

"I guess," Kel said before turning to Roshaun. "What's your name? I haven't seen you around here before, have I?"

Belatedly, Roshaun remembered that Kel had admitted to seeing him—probably when he and his father were being escorted to the noble's house. Apparently his current disguise wasn't as good as he'd thought. "I have to go," he said evasively. "My dad will be worried." And he turned and hurried off down the street, almost running, wanting to get away from those boys and the conversation he'd heard.

He had always known that the nobles hated him for his prestige, but he had never thought that his people might as well.


End file.
